Triptych
by Adali
Summary: Drabble series. A triptych is a work of art usually a panel painting divided into three sections. The whole is intended to be greater than the sum of the parts. ZoNa, ZoSa, SaNa.
1. Kiss

A triptych (from the Greek tri- "three" + ptychē "fold") is a work of art (usually a panel painting) which is divided into three sections, or three carved panels which are hinged together. The central panel is the most important one, and this is flanked on either side by two lesser but related paintings. The whole is intended to be greater than the sum of the parts.

-Wikipedia

**Kiss**

Sanji slouches against a wall, his relaxed posture diminishing his height so that it's easy for the woman to lean into his kiss. His hands on her hips are gentle, not grabbing her and pulling her close the way he longs to. She's relaxed too, her arms looped loosely around his neck. He doesn't murmur against her lips like he wants to, and she doesn't moan the way he wishes she would, but when the kiss breaks she gives a contented sigh and leans her head against his chest. It's more than enough.

This time it's Nami who's against the wall, the bricks digging into her back as she's pushed against them by the force of Zoro's body. His hands are on either side of her, trapping her. Hers are at his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt bunched in her tightly closed fists. He's growling something into her mouth and she bites his lip. When he breaks the kiss and draws back she comes with him, clutching his shoulders for support, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He holds her tight to him, unable to think of anything else.

Zoro's sitting on the deck, his back against the ship's rail. Sanji's bent over him, yelling something about the refrigerator. The ship rocks and he falls forward into the other man, their lips connecting for a second before they spring away from each other, shouting, even though it was an accident. An accident where Sanji, who has lived most of his life on ships and doesn't even notice their movement, was pitched into a helpless Zoro, whose reflexes, almost unequalled on the Grand Line, couldn't save him.

* * *

_With the exception of the middle portion being the most important, I'm trying to put the idea of a triptych into this story. I know, it's really short, but there's two more 'chapters' (read: drabbles) already written, and I'm trying to decide if I like the idea of just sticking with three (theme!) or expanding. I guess it'll depend on if I can think up any more series._


	2. Dance

**Dance**

Sanji holds her lightly, with the supreme confidence of one who is well used to this sort of movement. He leads without seeming to pay attention to what he's doing, instead focusing his attention on her. The chat quietly as they move through the steps of the dance, a perfectly spinning wheel in the pattern of dancers at the party. _Of course he's good at this_, she thinks. Is seems there is nothing beautiful and graceful and elegant that Sanji isn't good at.

Zoro holds her delicately, as though afraid he might break her. His movements are fluid but not relaxed, perfect in form but lacking in spirit, as though this is a half-learned kata. He is silent, and he stares at something behind her which isn't there. She doesn't try to talk to him. When the dance finishes, she smiles and thanks him, wondering where he learned to dance, and why.

Zoro is clumsy at the steps, unused to moving delicately for the sake of beauty. When he turns, it's almost always the wrong way, or on the wrong foot. He has no perception of the rhythm of the song that is playing. He's tired, frustrated, sick of all this, but Sanji's gentle voice is only correcting his steps patiently, encouraging. He remembers why he's doing this so that, when he makes a wrong step for the twenty third time, he only grits his teeth and corrects it.

* * *

_This fic seems to have become a repository for all those fleeting little images that pop into my head now and again. They're pointless (and far shorter than I care for, I have to admit), but I'd like to think they're occassionally cute or sweet. Besides which, I'll readily confess that they'll never turn into anything longer._


	3. Protect

_Here's the last of them. Probably. Unless inspiration in this vein ever strikes again._

* * *

She's a bit drunk, which means she's acting like she's just downed a full cask of rum. Maybe she has, even; he's only met one person who can out-drink this woman, and he's on guard back at the ship, likely fast asleep. She's flirting outrageously, and when the men lean in to stare into her glazed eyes - and down her low cut shirt - deft fingers flick to their wallets without being noticed. There's some other men eyeing her from their table in the corner of the bar. They don't look like the kind that come to the bar to drink and pick up. He doubts they even have wallets with them, just weapons. One stands and makes his way towards Nami, but is stopped by a prudently extended leg.

"What do you think you're doing, punk?" The man's friend has arrived and picked Sanji up by his collar before the man can even get up off the floor from being tripped.

He'll have to apologize to Nami-san later for getting them kicked out of the bar and ruining her opportunity to grab those last few wallets, but he wouldn't be a gentleman if he allowed her to get involved in that brawl. Besides, he enjoyed the fight, and he thinks he might enjoy apologizing even more.

.oOo.

Very soon he'll accuse the bartender of watering down the rum, because he's gone through a barrel of the stuff and it hasn't done anything. He's tired and cut up and down to his last clean shirt, which doesn't fit him very well, and she knows that tomorrow's the anniversary of Kuina's death, so right now all he wants is to get drunk out of his mind. It's not working, and even though it's just after dusk, already the single women are circling him like vultures.

They tell him he looks strong.

"I am," he says, and they think he's showing off for them, even though all he can see is someone challenging his strength. Man or woman doesn't matter to Zoro: they're equally dangerous to him, and she thinks he might like them equally.

One tries to put a hand on his arm before Nami grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him, hard and territorially. She spreads around a death glare for everyone, with an extra helping of malice for the audacious one. They back off, and she gets him another pint of rum.

.oOo.

He says he's looking for the perfect wine to compliment a dinner he's planning for when Nami-san feels better, but more likely he's just worried sick about her and trying to keep his spirits up. He probably can't taste anything with so much wine in him already. Ever a man with perfect manners, he toasts the room before downing his latest glass, no longer even pretending to savor the taste. The toast has attracted attention: a few women are looking at him and giggling, and there's a man making his way towards them.

Zoro doesn't like being in this bar. He'd rather be training or hovering protectively around Nami's room or drinking himself senseless in some decently rundown tavern. Anything but brooding in this pretentious hole watching over Sanji in his self-destructive behavior.

"Hey cutie," says the man, and that's as far as he gets, because Zoro punches him in the jaw. Sanji meets his gaze unsteadily, and then his eyes roll back as the alcohol finally catches up with him. Zoro catches his friend before he can fall and slings him over his shoulder, leaving the club in search of some honest alleyway in which to drink himself as blind as Sanji just did.


End file.
